


The Last Shall Be First

by Aipilosse



Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Background Caranthir/Caranthir's wife, Fourth Age, Gen, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse
Summary: No one expected Caranthir to be the first of his brothers to be returned, least of all Caranthir himself.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Nerdanel
Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208312
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	The Last Shall Be First

No one expected Caranthir to be the first of his brothers to be returned, least of all Caranthir himself. Maedhros was still held in high regard by many, remembered for his leadership, vigilance, and courage rather than his later deeds. Amrod and Amras were also named as likely to return, although not by those who remember their bloody thirsty madness that marked their last few years in Beleriand. Of the middle brothers, Celegorm, Curufin, and himself, it was generally agreed that they would have to go through many years of contemplation in dark Mandos before they were ever returned to the living, if they were returned at all. But for all his ill deeds, it was still remembered that Celegorm was Beloved of Oromë, so perhaps there was hope there for a return to his God. And if Celegorm was returned, it would make sense that Curufin would as well, for they were ever together and shared in many of the infamous deeds that condemned them to long imprisonment in Mandos.

And that was normally where the conversation ended. If Maglor’s fate was unknown, Caranthir’s was frequently forgotten.  _ It would be one thing if I was thought too evil to return,  _ Caranthir thought,  _ but being forgotten is an even more difficult pill to swallow _ . 

Not a day’s journey from the woods surrounding Mandos where he woke, Caranthir found an inn. He walked in, half expecting the patrons to leap to their feet and the innkeeper to chase him out with a club, but of the few people there, no one seemed to recognize him. Caranthir chose to introduce himself as Nasson, an epessë only coined after his arrival in Middle-earth, and asked where Lady Nerdanel now dwelled.

The innkeeper didn’t even blink at his grey robes or strange question; the recently returned were frequent visitors, and there was even a system in place so he could have food and lodging without coin. “But of course I know where Lady Nerdanel lives. She runs a guild of some sort down south in the Woods of Oromë. A bit strange if you ask me; what good are they doing out there? You’d think all their work would come from the cities. But she’s been there for many yeni, making all sorts of beautiful art.”

Caranthir ground his teeth. Things change very slowly in Aman if they change at all, but language is one of those slippery things that will always morph, even if the speakers are immortal. Caranthir found the changes grating, and the particular dialect the Vanyarin innkeeper spoke was even worse, with flat a’s and hissing s’s, an insult on top of his too familiar demeanor. Talking and listening after so many millennia of silence was difficult. 

He made the inkeep give him directions to the Nerdanelië anyway, despite all the unsolicited suggestions that the elf saw fit to give him. He was about to leave equipped with the knowledge of how to find his mother, but he found he couldn’t without asking one more question.

“Do you perchance know the whereabouts of Tirien, formerly of the Laiquendi of Northern Ossiriand?”

The innkeep shook his head. “Never heard of her. But then all those Sindarin names sound the same to me.”  _ It’s Nandorin you imbecile _ , he thought, and left before he became the first elf to become a kinslayer twice on these holy shores.

~

The main road led to Tirion, but Caranthir chose to skirt around the city. He was glad that Nerdanel was not living there; his extended family was overwhelming at the best of times and if he entered the city limits he knew they would be unavoidable. 

Instead he slowly made his way around the city and headed towards Oromë’s Woods. He walked, preferring the dawn and twilight hours; the sunlight was beautiful but harsh after millenia of the cool dark of Mandos. Sometimes he would catch a ride with the traders that traveled along the main road. 

He still only introduced himself as Nasson, and left any further information about his past vague. The news he heard along his route was strange for its normalcy. There were trade disputes, ugly rumors, and diatribes against art and artist — Valinor was a realm of eternal peace but there was still more to do than sing songs of endless praise to the Valar and with that came competing interests — but it was nothing like the quarrels that he remembered before the Darkening. The bitter calculus of life and death that he had grown so accustomed to in Beleriand was gone as well. There was no reason to hasten, no fear that if he did not try his utmost at whatever task was at hand that the many people who depended on him would suffer or die. He didn’t know if he could get used to this.

The road to the Nerdanelië took longer than he recalled. The Woods of Oromë had never been so far from Tirion, had they? Was the land stretching, or had his memories shrunk it? 

When he saw the crossroads where he needed to turn off the main road, he bid farewell to his current traveling companion and readied himself to walk again. He stood facing the woods for longer than he cared to admit. Memories arose of another woods, cold and dark, with branches that reached and enemies around every corner. He steeled himself and began his trek up the path. These woods were not at all like Doraith and comparisons were foolish. These woods felt more alive than any wood in Middle-Earth, although that was not particularly comforting either.

He felt his feet slowing after he took the leftward branch of the road. He was getting closer now, and the reunion that he had put off thinking about was drawing nigh. He didn’t know how Nerdanel would greet him. She had every right to contemptuously turn him out; after all, he had spurned her first.

He tried not to think about the other reunion he feared and hoped for. He continued asking for news of Tirien of the Laiquendi of Northern Ossiriand to no avail, but in the most recent village he had been given a very thorough description of every tribe that called these woods home and instructions on how to reach all of them. He had every lead he could wish for to seek out his wife, but the potential of rejection held him back. Tirien had died in the Dagor Bragollach and had never had to face the Oath-driven creature he had become.

He stepped out and into the clearing. Nerdanel’s house rose before him. House was too humble a word, although the style forbid the use of palace or fortress. In some places the house seemed to rise up to a height of at least four stories, and there were several towers that rose higher than that. In other places though it seemed no more than two. There was clearly a central hall built of the oldest stone, but wings upon wings had been built out from there in newer materials and with varying styles. It should have looked monstrous, but with candle light beginning to wink in the windows as evening came on and the smell of something delicious cooking, it was hard to feel anything but warmth.

A tall elf with a wide build strode out from the stables and crossed the yard. He waved when he spotted Caranthir.

“Greetings! What brings you to the Guild Hall of the Nerdanelië?”

Caranthir licked his lips. “I seek the guild mistress herself, Lady Nerdanel.”

The elf cocked his head. “Is it a matter of business or craft? You are welcome to stay and share a meal with us, but the Lady will have concluded business for the day. Now is the time for ease and merrymaking.”

Caranthir shook his head. “Neither.” He found words failed him.

“Spit it out man,” the elf said. He grew concerned. “Do you bear ill-news?”

“No.” Caranthir drew himself up. “Would you lead me to Lady Nerdanel? I am Morifinwë Carnistir, son of Nerdanel, and I have returned from Mandos.”

The elf’s mouth dropped open, and then he beckoned Caranthir to follow him. “I will lead you to her at once. Follow me.”

The elf led him into the foyer, and then back through the hallways to what looked like a central kitchen. 

And there she was. Chopping some herbs, laughing at something someone had said. Nerdanel’s hair was short and curly now, but other than that, her laugh sounded the same as it always had; she could’ve been teasing Makalaurë or laughing at some dumb joke of Pityo’s. She was flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the hilarity of her companions, but on her the bright pink shade did not seem hateful like it did on his own skin. 

She turned towards the door, and the laughter died on her lips. His own voice was frozen in his throat.

“Carnistir?” He saw her lips move, but could hardly hear her over the kitchen noises.

“Amil.”

Nerdanel set down the knife, and walked towards him. Her face looked as if she expected him to vanish at any moment. The other elves in the kitchen began to take note, and Caranthir heard a gasp of recognition.

“My son,” she whispered. She stroked his cheek. “It’s really you.”

Caranthir felt his face growing warm with emotion as a tear escaped his eye. “I am back.”

Nerdanel threw her arms around him, pulling him down and crushing him to her. “I never thought I would see you again.” 

“I am back,” Caranthir repeated; more words than that were beyond him. They remained embracing for a long minute. Finally Nerdanal loosened her grip and held him by the shoulders instead.

“You must tell me how this has come to pass. But first! You have come just in time for dinner. Fallo, bring up a bottle of the good wine! Some celebration is in order!”

Caranthir helped carry dishes to the table, and then sat down to eat with everyone who had paused their work for the evening. 

They stayed away from the hard questions at first. He was asked about his journey, and he asked in turn about the projects of the Nerdanlië. The food was the best he had had since his return. He savored every mouthful of boar, roasted vegetables, chewy bread, and aged cheese. He had missed having a body. Sometimes he had believed in the endless dark of Mandos that he could be content there, drifting in an almost timeless state, as the world turned on without him, but now talking freely with companions, and eating until he felt he could burst he knew that to be a lie. 

As the dinner wound down, Nerdanal grabbed both of their goblets and motioned for him to join her in an adjacent room with comfortable seats and small, merry fire.

“If you cannot speak of this yet, just say so, but I cannot wait to ask any longer. How have you left Mandos? We all believed that you would remain there until the breaking of the world.”

Caranthir settled back. He had been expecting the question and did not find it so hard to answer, alone with his mother after a cheerful meal.

“It is hard to judge time in that timeless dark, but I do not think it was that long ago. I became aware that Vairë stood in front of us.”

“Us?” Nerdanel asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes. I was with my brothers. At least I think I was with my brothers. Pityo and Telvo to be sure, and I know I saw Tyelkormo and Curvo at other points.” He frowned. “It’s all rather hazy now.”

Nerdanel sighed and sat back, and did not ask after the names he did not say.

“So, Vairë stood in front of us. And she said ‘Long have ye waited Sons of Fëanáro.’ She did not say it, but I could hear the old Doom just as loudly: There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies. At that moment the dark of Mandos was at its utmost for me, and time seemed to slow to a crawl at her words. For long ages has it been, if I am not mistaken?”

Nerdanel nodded, staring into the fire, old grief etched on her face. “I have been alone now for longer than I was with you by a factor of ten at least.” She smiled and looked around the room, strewn with reminders of the artists that lived there. “Well, not alone, but without those who should have been closest to me.”

Caranthir cleared his throat. “Amil, I am so sorry. I do not think I could atone for all the pain we’ve caused you if I started now and did not stop until the ending of the world, but know that I regret the manner in which we left, and the angry words I spoke, and for holding an empty gesture of honor above love.”

Nerdanel looked at him, and he felt as if she saw into his soul. “But you did not know it was an empty gesture at the time, did you? And was there truly nothing in Middle Earth that made the journey worthwhile?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that at all.” For a moment he thought of Tirien’s laugh echoing through their manor on Lake Helevorn that was more home than he’d ever had before. “But we wronged you Amil, and the parting did not have to be as bitter as it was.”

“You did,” Nerdanel agreed. “And I raged for years, cried for longer, and you are right, nothing you could do could take those years of sorrow from me. But,” and here she smiled with enough warmth that Caranthir thought he felt the last remnants of cold Mandos melt away, “what would holding on to that old anger do for me? You will have enough to atone for outside these walls; know that here I am just glad to have you back. I’m sure there are some things you could help with.” Her smile turned a bit mischievous at the end. 

Caranthir found himself smiling broadly back, letting his emotions spill out as readily as they had when he was young. 

“But come, Vairë must have spoken of more than Doom to you?”

“Yes.” Caranthir tapped his fingers against his glass, trying to recall how Vairë had imparted the next words. “She said, ‘An age of the world has ended, a great Shadow has departed, and We have been in council for many days.’ And I wondered what could have happened to have cast the Valar into such doubt.”

“Do you not hear what happens in Middle-earth in Mandos?” Nerdanel asked, surprised. “I had thought it was otherwise.”

“No, we can watch the weaving of the tapestries, but it has been many years since I knew the people that they depicted, and the lives of mortals are so short it is hard to follow.”

“Well, I can share anything you’d care to know later, or better yet you can hear it from someone who was a bit closer to the events, but please continue.”

“Vairë raised her arms and said, ‘Ye swore to retrieve the Silmarils, and promised thyself to Everlasting Darkness should ye fail. And ye have failed by most measures: one Silmaril is encased in the earth, the other in the sea, and Ulmo says it has fallen into depths even he would not dare. One Silmaril remains, and in this gem ye must place your hope. But it is also a test—for the remaining Silmaril can be thine, if ye also accept that it now belongs to all who dwell under its divine light.

“She lowered her arms and left, with no more explanation than that. And I felt within me such a rage as I have not felt since I had walked the earth. I didn’t not think it was possible to feel such anger in Mandos, but I did. The gem we had fought, killed, and died for was given to all, even the undeserving? And our Oath, which tormented us, which drove us to the darkest of deeds, dismissed on a technicality? If I had a body, I would have flung it against the walls; as it was, I had to be content with swirling in my prison. 

The faintest sign of apprehension showed in Nerdanel’s face. “Don’t worry Amil! I have not managed to trick old Namo into letting me out with destruction still in my heart. I would think you of all people would realize what happened next.”

Nerdanel looked relieved. “Ah, perhaps I do. You spent your anger, took a nap, and then woke the next morning looking for breakfast, your former rage abandoned?”

Caranthir laughed as she described what had been a common pattern of his in childhood. “Not quite, because you do not sleep or eat in Mandos, but you have the right idea. Once I had raged for who knows how long, I calmed, and accepted that I did not understand why they would give us this door to exit our Doom at this point, but then, if we understood the Valar, and perhaps if they understood us, would history be what it was?’ I had to think it over for some time still, but I knew in my heart that I would agree to this compromise, and leave Mandos.” He heaved a sigh, and relished the feeling of air filling up his lungs, the tightness at the top, and the rush as he let it all out. “We were not meant to dwell without bodies forever I think.”

“Did Vairë tell you that?” Nerdanel asked, hoped in her eyes.

“No, it was not Vairë.” Caranthir furrowed his brow, trying to remember who told that to him in Mandos. Even as he tried to chase down a memory, it seemed like the Halls grew hazy and muted in his mind. “I cannot remember,” he said at last. “But I feel it to be true.” Nerdanel bit her lip and stared into the fire. “Amil, I do not think you will not be betrayed by hoping for the return of at least some of my brothers.”

“Truly?” Nerdanel looked at him with terrible hope. “I gave up so long ago, before even the Vanyar marched to war. It is easier in a way.” 

Caranthir didn’t apologize again, but he remembered how much Nerdanel has loved her big, chaotic family, even when he, Celegorm, and Curufin had been born within the same decade, even when she realized she was carrying twins, and even when Fëanor was absorbed in his craft and not the husband she might have wished. To lose all of that in one blow must have been an unimaginable loss. 

“On the other hand, there were many times when I wished I was an only child.” The dry joke slipped out almost unintentionally. 

Nerdanel stared at him for a moment and then threw her head back and laughed. “With all your brothers put you through, it is only just that you should have some relief from them.” She shook her head, her eyes faraway. “Poor Carnistir, your brothers all had their partner in crime, and you were always chasing after them.”

Caranthir shrugged, the feeling of being left out that had plagued him so often as a child no longer anything he thought about, especially with so many more troubling memories he could dwell on now. 

“Maybe it was for the best. I think in a way it made me make many friends and allies in Beleriand.” He frowned. “Valinor has lost some of its luster knowing that there are no Atani and Dwarves here.”

“You are not the only one here who shares that complaint.” Nerdanel sighed. “Hearing Tyelperinquar talk about his dwarvish friends makes me feel like I missed something while staying here.”

“You did — a lot of trouble and misery. No, but there was friendship and discovery too. There are many places and people you would have loved Amil.” He stopped, realizing something. “Were, I suppose. All is under the waves now.”

Nerdanel was watching him with a wistful look on her face.

“What?” Caranthir asked, touching his face self-consciously.

“You left angry and young, someone who didn’t like to meet new people and pushed away those who would befriend you. You’ve returned a calm and prudent lord, a friend to all.” Nerdanel shook her head. “No, Beleriand was not all bad.”

“I don’t know if I’m calm,” Caranthir grumbled, slightly embarrassed. “And I wasn’t a friend to  _ all _ . I still don’t like Angaráto.”

Nerdanel covered her smile with her hand. “No, of course not. Perish the thought.”

Caranthir ignored her. “I do like this place, nice and remote, although everyone told me Findekáno and Írissë only live a few miles away. That’s a bit close for Nolofinwions, don’t you think?”

Still looking entirely too amused, Nerdanel replied, “Írissë helped me find this spot in the first place, so no, I don’t begrudge them their proximity. You might be pleased to hear Tyelperinquar lives with me. He’s somewhere.” She waved her hand vaguely. “He’s working on something I think, and so ignoring all reasonable mealtimes, but I’m sure he’ll come running here as soon as he hears you’ve arrived.”

Caranthir’s face lit up. “I thought he left the Halls long ago, but I wasn’t sure. That’s good to hear.” If all his brothers had had an accomplice, he would have been Celebrimbor. His nephew would visit for months at a time, as appreciative as Caranthir was or more of dwarven craftsmanship and the rare materials they traded. “You know you should be very proud of him.”

“I’m well aware. He’s very famous, you know, much to his eternal annoyance.”

“I’m sure he also approves of your location.”

“He helped me build Ondomar in the first place.”

Caranthir cleared his throat. “Who else is here?”

Nerdanel quirked an eyebrow. “Many people. There are some of Celebrimbor’s former folk, a few of my father’s smiths live here now, and Orneliel always has a few of her associates staying here.”

At the mention of Curufin’s wife, Caranthir straightened. “Ah, so Orneliel is here. Have you happened to hear from anyone else?”

Nerdanel saw that Caranthir’s questions were not just curiosity. “Who are you asking after?”

Caranthir shifted and stared into the fire. “Tirien, one of the Laiquendi of Northern Ossiriand. She has dark hair, and brown eyes and —” Caranthir abruptly stopped. When he had met her, she had a scar from her nose to her left eye, and was missing her right leg, both the legacy of battle against Morgoth’s forces under the stars before the Noldor came and the moon rose for the first time. “And she probably looks different now than when I knew here,” Caranthir finished lamely. Reborn, she would be unscarred and whole, he assumed. For a moment he thought about what it meant that he would miss her scar, a legacy of violence to her but a beloved mark to him. He shook himself. Time enough to miss the scars later.

“She would like it here; she’s an artist.” He finally met Nerdanel’s eyes, a pleading look on his face. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve never met a Tirien,” Nerdanel said.

Caranthir scrubbed his face. “I didn’t see her in Mandos, at least I don’t think I did. And we would have been there at the same time. She only died a few years before me, in the Dagor Bragollach. I don’t know what she thinks of me now, if she didn’t find me in the Halls, and she didn’t try to find you.”

Nerdanel put a hand on his leg. “I don’t know if your memories in Mandos mean anything about how she feels about you now. Many people report talking with only some of whom they expect, and do most not remember it clearly. And it’s not so strange that she didn’t search out her mother-in-law. She may well have thought I would have no interest in my estranged son’s wife, for that’s who she was, was she not?”

“Yes,” Caranthir said softly. 

“You know, many Laiquendi make their home in these woods, she might not be that far.”

“Perhaps. She liked living in one place; I don’t think she would go back to a nomadic life.”  _ Or if she wants me anywhere near her now _ , he thought. 

“Well, there’s time enough to find her, or for her to find you. I’m sure I’m the last one to know of your return, given how remote we are.”

“Ah, well, I wasn’t exactly introducing myself as Morifinwë Carnistir Fëanorion.” Caranthir scratched his head.

“Oh dear, were you trying to keep your arrival under wraps?” Nerdanel glanced towards the door. “It might be a little late for that.”

“What do you mean? This is the first place I’ve introduced myself in a way recognizable to most, although a few people would recognize the name I was using.”

“Well, you didn’t ask anyone at dinner to keep the news to themselves.” There was the sound of many greetings from the other room. 

“Caranthir! Where is the Mastermind of Money? The Hero of the Haladin? The Dealer of Dwarvish Goods?” 

Caranthir felt his face start to heat up.

“How is he here already?”

“I told you, they only live a few miles away!” Nerdanel stood and held open her arms. “Findekáno, welcome!”

Fingon ran over and hugged her before turning to Caranthir was far too much excitement. “I thought we had the excitement of the yén with Galadriel’s return, but now you’re here too! And not just in Aman, here in Ondomar!”

“Hello Fingon. You’re looking less cooked than when I last saw you.”

Nerdanel actually squeaked, but Fingon just threw back his head and laughed. “Valar I knew I missed you for a reason! Come, let’s toast to your return.” A bottle of spirits appeared in his hands as Írissë hurried in holding small glasses. 

“Where’s Celebrimbor?” Írissë asked as Fingon began to pour. She didn’t wait for a response, instead yelling into the hallway, “Somebody fetch Brim!”

Fingon held up his glass. With some reluctance, Caranthir raised his as well. “To friends returned!” Fingon toasted. 

“To having fine liquor again,” Caranthir replied, feeling a smile creep over his face unbidden.

“To my favorite son!” Nerdanel winked at him.

“Hear hear! now let’s drink.” They all tossed back their glasses with Írissë. 

As the liquor and something more began to warm him, Caranthir accepted a second glass, as ready as he’d ever be for the reunions to come. He even allowed himself to hope for a bit of unearned luck. 


End file.
